Edward Lorn's Blog, page 19

My Semi-Fictional Life #114 (resident Evil 7)

Hello peeps. Resident Evil 7 came out today. That’s all I’ve been doing. Enough said. Bye.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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My Semi-Fictional Life #113 (Giovanni’s Room Didn’t Make Me Gay)

I’m disappointed. This book failed to deliver.

Buh-buh-but E.! You gave it five stars.

Shuddup, random person on the internet. You have no power here!

But how can you give it five stars if it failed?

Because it didn’t make me gay.

Oh, okay. Wait… what?

It failed in making me gay. Homosexual, if you will. I do not, after having read this book, find men sexually attractive. Well, there is Johnny Depp. That’s one pretty man. But, overall, I’m still, like, 99.9% straight.

What the fuck are you talking about?

Even after having read this book, I cannot, for the life of me, choose to be gay. And who wouldn’t want to be gay. Come on! But it’s not working. I mean, I should be just jonesing for penis right now, right?

That’s… that’s not how it works…

Here, random person possibly growing more and more offended with every line of this false dialogue (psssst… it’s actually just me talking to myself. I bet you’re shocked. I know, right!), let me explain.

Whiny bitches from a bygone age found this book disgusting and felt sure that it would spread the GAY AGENDA! Some felt that, just by reading this novel, you’d fall into a nest of vipers and partake in lurid booty sex with all the mens. Just reading this text could brainwash you into needing the D, especially if you, yourself, were in possession of some D. What was the general public to do?

I keep hearing how whiny and triggered this new generation is today, but when you look back at the “good ol’ days”, you find that previous generations were scared of fucking EVERYTHING: gay people and women and commies and invisible men. Hell, some of these fools are still scared of all that. And Tom Cruise forbid your skin color is darker than Elmer’s glue. How can old folks have been so terrified of such silly misconceptions but then turn around and call today’s young people “too sensitive”? Get the fuck outta here, ya muppets.

Giovanni’s Room is a terrific novel that follows an American in France. Our narrator’s fiance has gone off to find herself and left him behind. He falls into a crowd of eccentrics, and ends up having a love affair with a man named Giovanni. The book is beautifully written. Some of the best, if not the best writing I’ve come across. Every word builds on the next, changing prose into music. Absolutely gorgeous. The level of word mastery on display here is awe inspiring. It will be a pleasure, I have no doubt, going through this author’s back catalog.

The only complaint I have are some ideas used that devalue women. Hella (the narrator’s fiance) says at one point that all women are good for is getting pregnant and the narrator agrees. Giovanni and the narrator also have discussions on the uselessness of women. Didn’t much care for that, but I couldn’t tell if it was author intrusion or the character’s personal beliefs. Because it wasn’t obvious which, I’m not deducting any stars.

Also, I call this guy “the narrator” because he’s called both David and Butch in the book. Butch could’ve been a nickname, though, because only his father called him that. Unless I missed something. If that’s the case, let me know in the comments.

In summation: Giovanni’s Room won’t make you gay, but it will break your heart. If you love beautiful writing and touching stories, give it a try. My highest possible recommendation.

Final Judgment: More James Baldwin now, please.

 

See you tomorrow,

E.

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My Semi-Fictional Life #112 (Review of Fat Cat’s Cat in Heat Hot Sauce!)

Hello peeps. Today I have another video review for you. And before you ask, yes, I own more than one shirt. This was recorded the same night as the last video I uploaded. And, yes, my shitty facial hair makes me look like a walrus. *smooches*

 

See you tomorrow,

E.

My Semi-Fictional Life #111 (Scary Morning Courtesy of Mother Nature)

Hello peeps. Today I awoke to my phone ringing off the hook. In a haze of sleep, I stumbled from my bed and into the living room as, outside, the wind howled and the rain pounded. I pulled the phone from its base (yes, we’re one of the only families left with a landline, and no, it is not a cordless; my wife has a cell phone but rarely uses the thing) and groggily said, “Hello.”

My mother yelled from the other end, “Tornado warning! Get into the bathroom! Take cover!”

If you live where tornadoes are wont to roam, you’ll know that the difference between a tornado warning and a tornado watch is that a warning means a tornado has been seen in your area. Having faced several of Mother Nature’s hissy fits and survived, I know not to fuck with the old lady when she’s throwing a temper tantrum. I rushed into my kids’ bedroom, snatched Chris from the top bunk and hollered Autumn awake. Chelle, who’d overheard Mom’s phone call, took Chris from me and we all, our dog Ash included, hid in the bathroom.

The warning started at 7:10 this morning and lasted until 8:30. That’s an hour and twenty minutes crammed into a trailer bathroom with another adult, an eleven year old, a four year old, and a hundred pound lab-pit bull mix. It was hot. It was uncomfortable. But we were safe. The lights flickered several times and only went out for about half a minute. We never did lose internet, aside from when the power blinked.

When the All Clear sounded, we crept out of our hiding space to assess the damage. The vent over the stove leaked, flooding the burners and drenching the pilot. All that had to be cleaned and dried out. The front and rear of our property flooded, with water over a foot deep in some places, but otherwise devoid of fallen trees or debris.

Four people died due to this storm, but no tornadoes actually touched down within ten miles of us. One of our surrounding cities, Billingsly, had a touchdown, which is what spurred the warning, but we were left, for the most part, alone. Although no one saw a touchdown in our area, my mother swears she heard a train in the distance. I heard it too. Which makes me think we dodged something unseen. Because I agree with my mother. Something was out there. Something big. Something angry…

Scary shit and one helluva way to wake up in the morning, but it could have been much, much worse. I can’t help but to wonder, though, if our luck is going to hold out. The last time I faced any significant property damage due to a storm was Hurricane Ivan in 2004. That was before my daughter’s birth. Feels like ages ago. Anyway, I don’t mean to jinx us, but it seems like we’ve had it too good for too long. Luckily, I’m not superstitious.

New hot sauce video coming in the morning.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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This was an amazing novel. I’ll try to get a review posted Monday…

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My Semi-Fictional Life #110 (A Day of Mourning)

Tragic Days in American History

 
April 15, 1865
December 7, 1941
November 22, 1963
September 11, 2001
January 20, 2017

Take care of one another.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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My Semi-Fictional Life #109 (A Review [Kinda] of GONE WITH THE WIND)

Hello peeps. Today I finally finished my (kinda) review of Gone with the Wind. Here you go.

A Review of Gone with the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell

I’ve gone back and forth on whether or not I would review this. Is there anything else left to say about this book? I’ve scoured Goodreads, reading every low-star review I could find to get the other side of the story. I wanted to know how anyone could possibly dislike this book. There are some valid points: people who can’t get past the racism, some who can’t get past the phonetic dialogue, those who disliked every character because there isn’t a likable character in the entire novel… well, that last one isn’t exactly true. I think Melly was solid gold. I, however, love reading about the worst of the worst, especially if those shitheads get what they deserve, and damn near every shithead in this book gets what they deserve… to a point.

But I’m not going to talk much about this book in general. I want to tell you why I enjoyed the book so much and about my experience living in the southern united states.

I don’t understand those reviewers who say that this book paints the south in a positive light. Dafuq? Did we read the same book? Because this novel is not kind to the south. Gone with the Wind finds the meatiest, bloodiest sores on the bloated, wretched corpse that is the southern united states and picks those wounds until they fester. Here we have a novel that describes in detail the stubborn, self-serving, two-faced, bitter nature of born southerners, a people who would rather die than be wrong; an overall uneducated people who wallow in their ignorance like swine in mud. These vain, morally-corrupt souls even have a phrase for how well they hide their hate; it’s called “Southern Hospitality”. Unless of course you’re a straight, white christian, then you’re cool.

I’ve lived in central Alabama for going on twenty years. Some of my family members are as country as sausage gravy, sweet tea, denial, and racism. I’ve grown to know these people and have come to expect the reactions me and my wife get while out in public. My nephew, who claims he’s not racist in the least, posted a picture of a black guy on Facebook. The black guy had been beaten by police. His lips and eyes were swollen. The caption said, and I quote, “The Lost Ninja Turtle: Niggatello”. When I confronted him and my sister (his mother) about the picture, they said, “We don’t see Chelle like that!” Like what, pray tell? Like a “nigger”, or like a black person? Mind you, this is my family, people who supposedly love me and my family.

The day after we moved to the home we currently live in, my wife had to chase down our dog Ash in our neighbor’s front yard. Realizing that an honest-to-god black person had moved in next door to them, they started flying an Aryan Nation flag under their confederate flag. On labor day of 2015, they got together with other like-minded neighbors and parked out in front of our house with these same flags dangling from their pickups’ windows. They rev their engines and peel out in front of our house. One has even shot at my dog with a BB gun. The police had this to say, “Those good ol’ boys don’t mean no harm. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

That is the reality of the south. Systemic racism and sexism and the culling of sheep with the aid of tradition and religion. It’s just the way things are done because that’s the way they’ve always been done. And this novel shines a light on all of that. Especially how kind these people act to your face, when all the while they’re plotting against you. I grew up in California and even lived a few years in Maine, and I have never seen such secretly hateful people as those who live in the south. Hate exists everywhere, don’t get me wrong, but nowhere else is there a higher concentration of shady motherfuckers. Northerners will tell you quick how they feel about you. Here, you have to catch them slippin’. My experience is with Alabama and Georgia and some Mississippi. Are there good southerners? Yes. Are they few and far between? For the most part. Unless you’re one of them–straight and white and christian–then you shouldn’t have a problem.

Reading this novel made me realize how pointless it is to expect that, someday, this region might change. Southerners act the same way today as they did back in the 1800s. They might hide their hateful, prideful, nationalistic nature a little better these days, but they still cannot stand outsiders, or even insiders, if those insiders aren’t the right color, or those insiders don’t believe in the same invisible men. And Tom Cruise forbid you don’t believe in any invisible men whatsoever. You could shit on the American flag and they’d react better to you in that situation than if you admitted you’re an atheist.

Gone with the Wind covers all that: tradition, racism, classism, sexism, and religion. Rhett is the character I enjoyed the most because he always pointed out everyone’s hypocrisy. Was he guilty of his own hate? Definitely. But at least he admitted it. At least he didn’t hide it. Like my wife says, “I’d respect them a lot more if they had balls enough to say shit to my face instead of whispering as we walk by.” I’ve just started staring back at those who lean and whisper as if they have two heads. I like making these assholes feel mutually uncomfortable. The one thing I won’t do is let them run me out of my home. I’ll leave on my own terms, ya fuckin’ hillbillies, thank you very much.

In summation: There you have it–my review of Gone with the Wind, a book that does not flinch from what truly makes the south THE SOUTH: hate and fear and ignorance, and pride in all of the above. This book certainly doesn’t celebrate the south. If you feel it does, you might want to take a closer look at yourself.

Final Judgment: An unflinching look at the darkest period in American history as seen through the eyes of the villains.

 

See you tomorrow,

E.

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My Semi-Fictional Life #108 (Ruminating On)

Hello peeps. Today I want to talk about the past. Mainly back when this blog was titled Ruminating On. Back in the day, I used to post weekly my thoughts on what was happening in the world. I wrote about everything from North Carolina’s rejection of gay marriage to writing advice (I know, I’m the last person who should be giving advice, so I stopped), to what was happening in my everyday life.

I changed the path of this blog once I joined Booklikes and gained a quick following over there. Don’t ask me what I did, because I don’t know. I honestly think I have so many followers on that platform because I was one of that site’s first members. Probably in the first 200 who joined. If they’d fix the fucking site, I might even return, but I just tried to log in and my browser timed out. Oh, well.

Anyway, after I linked Booklikes to this blog, Ruminating On became a review blog due to my daisy-chained accounts. Fast forward to when Booklikes started acting like geriatric porn (slow as fuck and sometimes wouldn’t load), I realized how much I had neglected this blog. Now I’m back and blogging every day. Will I keep that up once I complete the promised 365 posts? Hell no. But I would like to maintain the blog as a weekly thing.

My question to you, the few of you who have hung around through all that explanation, is what would you like to see on this blog? Reviews? Videos? Opinion pieces? Political shit? Madfuck ramblings? More fiction? More stories from my real life? What would keep you reading after this Semi-Fictional Life project comes to an end?

Let me know. We have a long way to go before this series raps, but I’d like to get a feel for your favorite content so you’ll hang around in the future.

See you tomorrow,

E.

P.S. If you liked the video I posted yesterday, there’ll be another one this Sunday and the Sunday after that. More if you like them.

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I haz puppy…

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My Semi-Fictional Life #107 (Review of Sam and Oliver’s Blackheart Cherry Reaper Sauce)

Hello peeps. Today I have a video for you.

 

See you tomorrow,

E.

 

My Semi-Fictional Life #106 (Forced Positivity)

Hello peeps. Today we’re going to talk about several things that having been weighing on my mind. Mainly forced positivity. But before that, I wanted to talk about failure.

Back when I first started taking my writing career seriously, I made a promise to finish everything I started, no matter how asinine or boring the project. In the dark ages of this blog, I talked about finishing everything you start if only because you cannot fix what doesn’t exist. While the idea is good, forced completion does not always make a sellable product. In fact, I’ve written, to date, 25 novels, and over 1,000 short stories, and have only published a fifth of my output (this is a lifetime number, some of these stories aren’t even 600 words long). And if you’re of the camp that thinks what I publish is below standard, boy oh boy, you should see what I keep to myself.

I bring that up because, on Mondays, I’ve been asking for suggestions for Flash Fiction Fridays. The suggestions have been stellar and the stories, for the most part, have been fun, but part of this project was to show that a there’s a story hidden in everything. That you can make sense of nonsense. I don’t think I managed to do that with the last two. At least not in any entertaining way. I’ve been just kinda… going through the motions. Sure I can continue to produce crap, but what’s the fun in that?

So I’m stopping. The honest reason behind this is that I’m just not feeling myself lately. I’ve always battled depression, but usually I can write my way out of it. This time it’s proving a mite harder to get out of this slump. It seems that whenever my life becomes brightest, I fall into the darkest depths. There is nothing wrong with my life. I have a terrific family and a secure existence out here in the middle of nowhere, but my mood is shot, and until I can remove my head from my ass, I need to take a break from these stories.

Oddly enough, today’s blog post came about after watching a PewDiePie video on YouTube, wherein Felix discusses forced positivity. I’ll link that below.

This isn’t the end of Flash Fiction Fridays. If you’ve followed me long enough you know this is the second time I’ve done this, and I’m sure I will do it again. Right now, I’m not feeling it. If I’m honest, I didn’t even want to write this post today.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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My Semi-Fictional Life #105 (Giveaway!)

Hello peeps. I’m doing a giveaway for a paperback copy of my short story collection WORD. If you’re unfamiliar with the softer side of E, here’s the synopsi-thingy:

Author Edward Lorn is best known for his horror stories.

These are not those.

WORD is a collection of literary fiction that celebrates Story in all its forms. You will find tales of odd lovers, social outcasts, and leaving your childhood behind.

These six stories, four of which are published here for the first time ever, take a considered look at the different facets of society and how Normal is a word always in search of meaning.

Table of Contents:

Burrito

Skinny

Come (previously published)

Margins (previously published)

Lounge

Glamis

So how do you enter? Easy, leave a comment on this post (say any ol’ thing, I’m not picky) or comment on my Instagram video HERE.

See you tomorrow,

E.

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Currently reading…

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